


Am I Good Enough?

by TheFightingBull



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dean is 23, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, No Wincest, Not Beta Read, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25043071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFightingBull/pseuds/TheFightingBull
Summary: Dean and John have a talk. Pre-series. No wincest in this story.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & John Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Am I Good Enough?

Alcohol, no matter how familiar and friendly the name sounded, was not in fact, Dean Winchester’s friend. His love affair with Jack, Jim, and sometimes the Captain, had finally blown up in his stupid, freckled face. It had also apparently blown up all over the bathroom sink, toilet and even splattered into the bathtub.

He stared at the mess, doing his best not to lose it all over again from the smell alone. Though what there was left to lose was beyond him. Dean sighed and went to the hallway closet to gather cleaning supplies. Unlike some people, or even his younger self, he didn’t like to leave that kind of mess for housekeeping to clean up.

It was just rude. 

As his head pounded, he altered his plans a touch and went first to his backpack. There, he chugged two bottles of water and took a couple Tylenol for the killer headache. He doubted it would do him any good  _ now _ , but maybe he’d finally learn his lesson.

He faced the bathroom as boldly as he had any hunt in his life. He rolled up his sleeves, then changed his mind and took off his red and black over shirt. He wrapped a clean hand towel around his face to prevent the smell from making him sick all over again and then gathered up all the hotel towels and rags he could find. Then he scrubbed. He made sure he washed every single surface in the bathroom and then some. It only took him twenty minutes or so.

Actually, it only took twenty minutes because he heard a knock at the door and decided it was as clean as it could possibly get without the aid of bleach. He tossed all the soiled towels and rags into the laundry bag provided by the hotel and then finally went to the door.

His brows jumped to his hairline at the sight.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

John Winchester stood before Dean, the older man’s face expressing a mixture of relief and anger. It was a familiar look, though. As far as he knew, Dean was always worrying and angering his father. Almost always at the exact same time. So, it wasn’t much of a shock to see the expression.

It was however a shock to see the man so far from where he had last reported himself to be. Then again, that was a while ago. They’d had some kind of blow out. No matter what Sam thought, Dean and John didn’t always get along. As a matter of fact, they probably fought even more than his little brother could have possibly guessed.

Dean had just been smart enough not to egg John on in front Sam.

John looked passed Dean and he cringed at the sight of his father’s nose turning up. “You been drinking, Son?” 

“I’m twenty-three, Dad,” he glared as he moved aside so his father could step in. “By law I can drink myself straight into oblivion and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it.”

“Still moping on about Sammy going to school?” John guessed. “’Bout him leaving us behind so he can make a better life for himself?”

Dean didn’t answer as he glared at the floor. That was about the truth of it. Maybe there was a little more to it than he cared to get into at the moment, but Dean couldn’t deny what his father said. Just like he couldn’t deny that both of the men who meant the entire world to him had abandoned him.

And why?

Because  _ they _ were pissed off at  _ each other  _ as per fucking usual.

John couldn’t have possibly had an issue with Dean. As Sammy so cruelly pointed out, Dean did what he was told and when he was told. He was a “perfect little soldier”. Though, anyone compared to Sam was probably little.

“There’s something you need me to help you with?” Dean asked, trying to lose his “attitude” before John could comment on it. “Something I did wrong in the last town I was in?”

“Watch it, Dean,” John ordered.

Dean was about to apologize when he realized something. “How did you know where to find me? We haven’t spoken in forever.”

“I have several friends keeping me up to date on your movements,” John answered.

“So why are you here?” Dean asked again.

When he looked up to face his dad, all he saw was the man’s large hand holding a cell phone with a text message. A text that apparently came from Dean’s most recent burner. He blinked in shock at the words he read. There, in black letter across a green screen he read “ _ You make me feel like I’m not good enough” _ .

“What is this, Dean?” John asked.

“Drunk text, beats me,” Dean shrugged and immediately turned away from the searching gaze of his dad.

He could hear John sigh irritably, but to his surprise, his dad didn’t start shouting or demanding answers. Instead John moved to sit on the large King size bed. He pulled out a pack of smokes and lit up, disregarding the large “No Smoking” placard on the wall just above the bed.

John took a drag and as he blew out the smoke, he pinned Dean with a stern gaze. “You know what I think it means?”

“No, Sir,” Dean shook his head, staring worriedly at the cigarette.

John ashed his cigarette into one of Dean’s many empty bottles that littered the small room. “I think it means exactly what it says, Dean. I make you feel like you aren’t good enough.” John took another drag and stared at Dean like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “And while I’d normally chalk that up to one drunken night, it’s not the first time I’ve gotten a message like this from you.”

Dean blinked and shook his head. “I didn’t.”

John offered him his cell phone. “Go ahead and check for yourself, Son. I’ve got three texts from you that told me how important it was that I get to you as quickly as I could.”

Taking the offered phone, Dean went to the texts and looked. He swallowed hard as he went through all three of them.  _ You think Sammy hates us? _ That was the first one sent three nights ago. He didn’t even remember playing with his phone. He opened the second one and blushed.  _ I miss you, Dad.  _ Had he really been getting that drunk?

John was putting out his cigarette when Dean handed him back the phone. “So what are we gonna do about this, Dean?”

“There’s nothing  _ to _ do,” Dean shrugged, not wishing to be a burden on his dad. Not especially when John and Sam were still fighting. His dad didn’t need the stress of worrying about him. He was the oldest. He was the reliable one. The one that at least tried his best to get the job done right the first time. “So, I got a little sappy after a few too many to drink. No big deal. I’ll just keep my phone in my backpack overnight.”

His dad didn’t say anything for several long moments. He just stared at Dean. It was unnerving when his dad was that focused without being angry or shouting. A loud, angry John Winchester was easy to predict. Easy to calm.

But how did you calm down a man who you weren’t even sure was pissed off to begin with?

His father got up and walked over to him. “Dean, I need to know what this is about,” he whispered. “I can’t fix what I don’t know is broken. I can’t yell and scream at you, you haven’t done anything wrong. I can’t go kill something if you haven’t been cursed. And,” Dad paused for so long that Dean forced himself to make eye contact; forced himself to see the sadness in John Winchester’s dark brown gaze. “And as much as I wish I could, I can’t drag Sam back into your life, Son.”

“Why’d you have to say that, though?” Dean demanded, finally feeling brave enough to ask the questions that had been torturing him since Sam slammed the door on them forever. “Why’d you tell him not to come back?”

John stepped backward and rubbed his face with his hands. Dean knew it was a sign that he was trying not to give into his emotions. Dean did the same thing. Sam stood defiantly, tears streaming down his face proudly when pissed off or impassioned by whatever he was arguing about. John and Dean didn’t like people to see them cry.

Didn’t like to let anyone to know that they could bleed like anyone else.

“At the time, I believed he was looking for my permission to leave and while I was pissed off at how he’d gone about it, my biggest fear was for you.”

Dean blinked and then shook his head. “Me?” That didn’t make sense. “What the hell were you afraid for me for?”

“Look around you, Dean,” John waved his hands toward the beer cans and bottles all over the place. “Yeah, you’re hunting and staying alive, but barely.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean glared.

“Does it look like I am?” John growled, that dad tone causing Dean to look to the floor again. “Damn it, Dean, look at yourself! Look at this place? How many injuries are you hiding?”

Dean’s eyes burned but he didn’t dare look up at John. What if he saw the tears? What if he thought he was weak and unworthy? But then, wasn’t that why John was here? He was going to stop him from hunting. Or at least John was probably going to try. Dean wouldn’t be left behind like some pathetic fifteen year old.

He was an adult. He’d do what he wanted.

“I’m not hiding anything. Got nothing to be ashamed of!” Dean growled.

John didn’t let up though. “Dean, I  _ was _ mad that Sam wanted to leave, but I was more pissed off at how he handled everything. I was livid that he went behind my back and didn’t trust you or I to let him go, but more than that, yeah, Dean,” John ran a hand through his own curly black hair. “I pushed him away because I couldn’t let you think I was just letting him go.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Dean frowned.

“When does anything make sense when you’re so pissed off that you’re seeing red?” John countered. “You were trying to fix us, Dean. Trying to keep Sam with us, but I knew he wasn’t going to stay and I couldn’t let you or even myself think that I let him go without a fight. We needed it, Dean. All three of us needed it.”

“But you told him not to come back!” Dean frowned.

“To hunting. Even in that moment I meant to hunting, but I was too angry to correct myself,” John sighed. “The longer he lives as civilian, the less reliable he’ll be on a hunt.”

That Dean couldn’t deny. They’d all heard the stories of hunters who gave up the life and were killed later on when they tried to come back. Dean knew that Sam wouldn’t believe it, but Sam was unforgiving and merciless when it came to their dad. He blamed John for every little thing that went wrong in their life.

True, Sam never got to experience what it was like to have a normal dad instead of the hunter, but life wasn’t fair. That was something Dean had understood from the moment his mother was killed by a demon.

“Now, I know you’re hurting, Dean,” John started again. “I can see that. I made a mistake when I left. Not because you can’t be trusted to work on your own, but because you’re built different than Sam and I.”

He couldn’t help but wince at the comment. Dean hated how alike Sam and John were. Dean might have been a hunter like his dad, but he knew he wasn’t what John wanted. Not truly. For years Dean had long suspected that John was secretly proud as hell that Sam was as stubborn and free-thinking as himself. Meanwhile, Dean was just a soldier who took orders.

The only way he felt he could make his father proud was by doing as he was told and yet, doing so felt like he was disappointing the man, too. It was a double-edged sword.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I asked you a question, Son.”

Dean’s cheeks flushed red as he quickly apologized. “I didn’t hear you, Sir.”

“I said I’d like for us to start hunting together again,” John repeated. “But that means leaving the West Coast. We’re needed out East.”

Oh.

That meant… His dad didn’t think Dean would leave Sam alone. Was it possible Dean was picking Sam over John? Could his father be hurt by that? He looked the man’s face over and seeing the sunken eyes, the shadow a of bruise under his left eye and finally noticing that his dad was a bit smaller, he thought it could be possible.

“Am I good enough?” Dean asked.

John held perfectly still as they stood silently in the room. Dean knew his father was shocked at such a point-blank question that was filled with so much emotion. More than his dad or especially Sam, Dean hated those types of questions. He didn’t like chick-flick moments, good or bad.

Felt too much like exposing his neck to a Vampire’s teeth or something.

“Dean,” John whispered and nodded. “Of course you’re good enough. You’re a better hunter than half the men who’ve been hunting for the past twenty years. No one, and I mean no one is going to get the better of you in a fight, unless you allow them, too.

“That’s what scares me about your texts, Dean. That you don’t see that the only one holding you back, is you. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, or you’ll wind up dead.”

Dean wanted to correct his dad. He wanted to make John understand that Dean didn’t need a confidence boost when it came to hunting. What Dean wanted and needed most was to know that he was a good enough  _ son.  _ A good enough  _ brother _ . A good enough Winchester.

But he couldn’t speak those words. He’d choke on them and Dean couldn’t face the censure and irritation he was sure he’d see in John’s eyes.

“Of course, Dad. I know that,” he promised and let the subject drop.

John nodded and grabbed his left shoulder, squeezing hard. “You better not be doubting how I feel about you, Deano,” John said in a softer, quieter tone. “We make mistakes and I won’t deny you’ve made your fair share just as I have, but even when I’m disappointed in you, my pride in you is about a thousand times stronger.”

Dean swallowed back the emotion and tried to nod, but his dad pulled him into a tight, nearly bone-crushing hug.

“I mean it, Dean,” he said calmly. “I love you, Son. Nothing’s gonna change that. I promise.”

Returning the embrace, Dean couldn’t speak for the same reason as before. If he did, he’d cry and that certainly wouldn’t help his hangover. Instead he clung to his dad, letting him know how relieved and grateful he was for the words, no matter how softly spoke they were. 


End file.
